The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 2

by Bethany-Kris

  “Right, but yes ... a little. I haven’t been on a proper date in years.”

  Ah.

  “No pressure,” he murmured.

  Her light laughter had him smiling wider than ever. And of course, his brother just happened to see that smile when he turned around, too.

  Dammit.

  He gave Chris a look.

  His brother averted his stare.

  “Anyway, are you up for it?” he asked.

  Cella barely hesitated before replying, “Yeah, I am definitely up for that.”

  Perfect.

  “I’ll let you know the details.”

  That was that. Except he wondered if it was going to end up being a hell of a lot more.

  4.

  “And why can’t I come this time?”

  Cella had all she could do not to laugh at how indignant and offended her daughter managed to sound as they climbed the steps to her parents’ house. “I told you why—I’m not doing things that five-year-olds can also do.”

  Which wasn’t entirely a lie, considering she didn’t know very much about the dinner party at the Guzzi mansion. Nothing except for the details of what she should wear, as there apparently was a dress code, and that alone told her maybe Tiffany wouldn’t have very much fun being stuffed into a pretty dress and made to sit still and behave for hours on end. Truth be told, she hadn’t really thought to ask if that was the case.

  “So, I think you’ll have more fun with Aunt Lucia and Uncle Ren this weekend. Plus, I hear Uncle John has a movie he wants to take you to with the rest of the kids.”

  Tiffany at least had the decency to look as though she were actually considering her mother’s words. Like which one might be more interesting to her because she didn’t truly know. In a way, Cella loved that all her daughter wanted to do was be with her mom. All the time, no exceptions. Tiff really was her little mini-me, all things considered. But how could she not be when for most of her life, her mother was all she really had?

  At the same time, Cella often wondered if that was healthy for her girl. It was why, even when she knew Marcus wouldn’t have a problem with her daughter tagging along this weekend for his plan regarding his mother, that she decided it would be better to drop Tiffany off with her parents for the day before she spent the rest of the weekend with her aunt and uncle.

  Space was good.

  For both of them.

  Plus, though it made her guilty to think about it, Cella hadn’t taken time away from her child in years. Well, never. Those first few months after her husband’s death was nothing more than a blur in her memories, and that was probably the time when she accepted the most help from others with her daughter. Not that she ever spent time away, but there were spans of mornings where her mother woke up with her child instead of her, and even times when one of her sisters would take Tiffany out to the park or to an appointment if it was needed.

  Cella just ... hadn’t been able to do it.

  Couldn’t get out of bed.

  And then they would bring her daughter to her, the girl would climb into her mother’s bed, and that’s how they would stay. Tucked in with one another, her breathing in the familiar baby scent and memorizing every single part of her daughter’s features that she took from her father.

  The depression cleared, though.

  Eventually.

  Still, she never took time for her. Not even a day—she always made sure to schedule things for her around her daughter’s needs. When Tiffany was in daycare or visiting with her grandparents.

  Not this weekend, however.

  That was for Cella.

  Well, her and the penthouse job.

  Yep.

  That’s what she was going to keep telling herself, anyway. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that this not a date felt like a date, in a way, and the longer she had time to think about the man who would be accompanying her that weekend to the dinner ... well, the more she liked it.

  Nope.

  Wasn’t thinking about that at all.

  “Ma?”

  Cella glanced down at her daughter. “Yeah, baby?”

  Tiffany smiled back. “Are we gonna go inside?”

  Dammit.

  She had been so distracted in her thoughts that they stood on the porch of her parents’ home for God knows how long. Sighing, and catching the sight of her kid’s snickering out of the corner of her eye, she didn’t even bother to ring the bell or knock before entering the house. Not that her mother or father would care—their open-door policy for their children extended straight into their adulthood.

  Yet another reason why she loved them.

  “Grandmama!”

  Tiffany’s shout echoed through the house, and she dropped her sparkly, pink backpack full of the things she needed for the weekend to the floor without a look back. Cella smiled after her girl, knowing she should call her back and remove her shoes, but she didn’t get the chance before Tiffany darted down the hallway.

  She, at least, took the time to remove her coat and shoes even if she was going to have to put them right back on in a few short minutes. She couldn’t stay very long given that the drive to Toronto was going to be eight hours from her parents’ house, not considering the traffic, which there always was too damn much of it.

  Oh, she could have flown.

  Cella thought the drive might be ... nice.

  Time to think.

  Overthink.

  And that was enough of that.

  Cella followed the path her daughter had taken, hearing the familiar noise of her family coming from the kitchen. Always the gathering hub in an Italian family’s home, it was the first place to make her feel the safest in this house. She leaned in the entryway, surprised to see her sister and brother-in-law were already there with her parents.

  Jordyn and Lucian, her mother and father, stood on one side of the island while her youngest sister, Lucia, and her husband, Renzo, stood on the other. Unsurprisingly, Tiffany sat right on the kitchen island between the four, already stuffing her face full with what looked to be cookies that her mother had probably baked just for the girl.

  Her daughter at least had the nerve to look sheepish when Cella raised a brow at the sight. “What is that?”

  “Aw, Ma.”

  Cella laughed but gave her mother a look. “Limit them, please?”

  Jordyn shrugged. “I make no promises.”

  So was the way of grandparents.

  Laughter filled the kitchen.

  She soaked it in.

  Needed it, really.

  Yeah, Rochester was better for Cella because it allowed her time to figure out the things she really needed and wanted in her life, but at the same time ... she missed being able to have moments like these with her parents and the rest of her family every day.

  “So, what is this weekend away for again?” her father asked.

  Cella shrugged. “The penthouse job for the Guzzis.”

  Lucian nodded. “All weekend, though? Never knew you to—”

  “It’s supposed to be a surprise for Gian Guzzi’s wife—problem is, they want the space designed for her personally. I need to get to know her. And so, her oldest son—”

  “Marcus, right?” Renzo asked suddenly.

  Usually, the guy was pretty quiet. All in all, though, Cella liked him, and he treated her sister like a fucking queen. Even her own daughter adored him because he just had a way about him. Easy natured, and kind-hearted. And at the same time, Cella knew Renzo was capable of great violence, given his profession ... strange how that worked.

  “Yeah, Marcus.”

  Renzo gave Lucia a look. “Met him a couple of times. He’s a good guy.”

  “And handsome,” Jordyn added.

  Cella cleared her throat. “He is, but—”

  “So you noticed,” Lucia noted.

  Her father chuckled, but thankfully, said nothing. He was apparently the only one in the bunch who didn’t want to get in on this pile on Cella moment they
were all having. Well, excluding her daughter, but she blamed that on the fact the girl had just snuck two more cookies.

  “Tiffany, enough cookies, babe.”

  “But—”

  “Too much sugar gives you bad dreams, remember?”

  Tiffany let out a huff. “Fine, Ma.”

  Cella winked.

  Her daughter blew her a kiss right back.

  “Back to the young man in question here, please,” her father said. “I’m invested in this conversation and where it’s going.”

  Ah, there was his add-on to this nonsense.

  “How he is or looks, for that matter, has nothing to do with the fact he invited me to accompany him to a dinner party his mother is throwing so that I can get to know her a little bit before I move ahead with some plans for the penthouse. Quite an evening, I guess, I even needed a new dress.”

  Silence saturated the kitchen.

  Cella didn’t miss it. “What?”

  “Like a date?” her mother asked.

  Great.

  There was that word again.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that she kept thinking of it that way even if it was more for work than pleasure? She certainly didn’t need other people thinking of it the same way.

  “It’s not a date, Ma.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Cella sighed. “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  Light laughter filled the room.

  Her ma was still looking at her, though. In that way. A way only mothers could. One that said Jordyn could read her daughter’s mind and didn’t believe a single thing she was saying.

  Shit.

  Cella didn’t even believe herself.

  So what if it wasn’t a real date?

  Part of her might like to think it was.

  Her parents shared a look, but before anyone could say anything more about it, Cella decided to close the conversation. “I really have to get going and get on the road.”

  “Right, right,” her ma said, “well have fun.”

  “And be safe,” Renzo added.

  She shot the man her middle finger down at her side where her daughter couldn’t see it. God knew Tiffany did not need to be learning that gesture from her mother. Crossing the kitchen, she cupped her daughter’s head full of golden curls before dropping a kiss to her crumb-scattered, smiling lips.

  “Love you—be good for Auntie, okay?”

  Tiffany smiled brilliantly. “I will, Ma. Say hi to Marcus, okay?”

  Soft chuckles echoed around the kitchen.

  Cella ignored them.

  “I will, baby.”

  She thought no one had followed her out of the house, but Lucia quickly opened the door right after she closed it.

  “What?” Cella asked, hovering by the stairs on the porch.

  “Just ... I know you said this weekend isn’t a date, right?”

  “It’s really for work, yeah, but ... maybe it’s a little bit of both.”

  After all, Marcus hadn’t said differently.

  And he teased it like a date.

  “And you’re good with that?”

  Cella grinned. “Lucia, I don’t know what I’m good with anymore. It’s been so long, and I’m not sure I would even know what to do with a guy on a date, or after, for that matter. So, I’m not worried about it.”

  Lies.

  She worried about it too much.

  “Well, what about him?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Him—Marcus,” her sister clarified.

  Cella shrugged. “He’s ... charming. Incredibly handsome. Probably too rich for his own good. A little confident, but I assume that comes from being who he is. Responsible, clearly. He was sweet with Tiff, and didn’t seem to mind she was there. He took me by surprise, but I’m not mad about it.”

  Lucia lifted a brow.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I mean, I just meant to ask what he said about this weekend, but if you wanna basically tell me all the reasons you’re attracted to him, go for it.”

  Yeah, shit.

  Her sister didn’t give her time to reply before she added, “Cella, have fun this weekend ... don’t worry about nonsense. After everything, you deserve it, okay?”

  Right.

  “I’ll try,” she whispered.

  Because at this point, it was all she could hope for.

  • • •

  Cella tried not to be nervous as she smoothed her hands down the shimmering, golden fabric of her dress as she headed for the door of her hotel. A light knock echoed again, but she still took a second to breathe and glance in the mirror on the wall that greeted the guests to the room. She took in the way the dress fell against her body, thin straps hugging the delicate line of her shoulders and showing off more skin than she normally would what with the way the fabric dipped at her chest. It gave an ample view of her cleavage and the thin golden bar that hung from a similarly-styled chain from her throat, resting at the valley between her breasts.

  Not that it bothered her.

  The dress was beautiful.

  Sparkling sequins made up the loose-fitting bodice, and the skirt with a good three layers of chiffon swished with every step she took in her gold, strappy, five-inch stilettos. The skirt fell about three inches above her knees, allowing the light to catch the shape of her calves and how great those heels made her legs look.

  In the mirror, her reflection stared back. Face painted with makeup to highlight the features of her face she loved the most—lips a stark red, eyes smoked out with kohl and lashes fanned by black mascara. Highlight on her cheekbones, and just a tint of rose on the apples of her cheeks.

  Definitely not a date.

  That’s what she kept saying.

  And yet, she dressed and looked just like it was one.

  Before her guest could knock at the door again—he’d already done it twice and was probably wondering what in the hell was taking so long—she pulled the door open, hoping it would settle those beating butterfly wings in her stomach.

  It didn’t.

  And Cella wasn’t ready.

  Not for the sight of Marcus behind the door.

  Waiting for her.

  Oh, that wouldn’t have been anything special, really, but it was how he looked standing there in that three-piece suit that seemed to hug his fit, muscular lines. Gold cufflinks glittered at his sleeves, and his tie and vest matched the color of her own dress. He’d gone to the effort of slicking his hair back, which only made the strong lines of his face even more prominent, dark, and handsome what with the shadows of the hallway falling over his features the way they did.

  That jaw.

  His lips.

  He smirked, and she dragged in a quick breath.

  Marcus stared at her with dark eyes that slowly drifted over her with damning intent.

  Yeah.

  He didn’t even hide how he drank her in.

  Inch by inch.

  There was nothing that could make a woman feel more beautiful than a man enjoying what he was looking at and even better if he could appreciate the sight of said woman in clothing. Because she could only imagine how he would stare at her if she wasn’t dressed.

  Finally, he spoke.

  And she wasn’t ready for that, either.

  “Look at you,” he murmured.

  She swore his words felt like they whispered over her skin.

  Cella had to remind herself to breathe again. Just like that, she needed to take one single second to step back, and figure out what exactly was happening here. With this weekend, this night, and this man.

  “Marcus?”

  “Hmm?”

  His gaze darted up to hers from where it had been lingering on that chain at her throat, looking as though he was more interested in the way it fell between her breasts than anything else currently. She certainly liked that, no doubt about it, but still ...

  “This isn’t a date, right?” she asked.

  Marcus lifted a single, dark brow high. “Well�
��”

  “No games. It’s been years since I went out with a man, and that man was my husband. So, I get that this started out as one thing, but that it might be something different now. All I want to know is if that’s the case, that’s all.”

  His throat jumped with his swallow, an entrancing sight if there ever was one.

  Yeah.

  Cella was so screwed.

  He smiled, then, slow and sexy.

  She felt it all over.

  “This qualifies as a date,” he said, “but only if you want it to. I did only intend for this night to be about you getting to know my mother, but there’s something you don’t know about that, Cella.”

  She wet her lips, still enjoying the way he stared at her far too much. “And what is that?”

  “We have rules—us Guzzi boys. Or we used to before all my other brothers got married and left me as the hopelessly single one of the bunch. We don’t bring women home, not unless we intend to bring them back.”

  Ah.

  She heard what he didn’t say.

  He was, technically, bringing her home.

  “So, was it supposed to be a date? No. Do I care about the semantics here? Not particularly. Do I want you to have a good time, and then we can go from there? Absolutely. And that’s what matters.”

  “Do you intend to bring me back?”

  Marcus grinned, flashing perfect, white teeth in the process. “That depends on what you want here, and I don’t get a say either way.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “But I do get to persuade you.”

  Yep.

  That had her shifting on the spot, desperately trying to ignore the heat traveling through her body and how this man so easily caused it to happen.

  How long had it been since she felt an attraction to a man?

  Lust for him?

  Too long.

  And that unsettled her.

  If only because a long dormant part of Cella suddenly remembered exactly what it was like to be this woman. The one who wanted to seduce a man—to show him she could be just as bold and alluring as him, but in her own way.

  The words slipped past her painted lips before she could think better of it.

  “Persuade me, then.”

  All at once, Marcus straightened to his full height, dropping his hands from either side of the doorway to move in closer. She felt like a deer in the headlights, a prey caught in the sights of the most dangerous but beautiful predator. She was caught by the curve of his lips, how they lifted at the edge on one side as his gaze dropped down to her mouth while he closed the distance between them.